


Cupcake Fever

by orphan_account



Category: NASCAR RPF
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:35:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crack!fic for sure. There's a long running joke between several of my NASCAR fangirl friends about Chubby!Shrubby and his love for cake. Really though, who can blame him? Cake is awesome, and cupcakes? Heaven in a little paper wrapper. We all knew one day that love for baked goods would get him in trouble...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupcake Fever

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a tiny little Christmas 2010 present to Tracy.

“You don’t understand... this is all a mistake!” My voice goes up about 3 octaves higher than normal the closer we get to the car. “I really wasn’t breaking and entering... I... I had a key! And the alarm code! And they’ve... they’ve been paid for!”  
  
None of what I’m saying is making a bit of difference to Mooresville’s finest, and my head hits against the door frame of the car as he guides me me into the backseat. _Sorry_ , he mutters, though he doesn’t sound a bit sorry.  
  
“Don’t I get a phone call or something?” I ask, and he nods as he slides behind the wheel of his police cruiser, then looks at me in the rear view mirror.  
  
“Sure you do, Mr. Busch. Just as soon as we get you to the jail and get you processed,” he says with a smile... no, a smirk. A smirk that the Grinch himself would envy.  
  
“Could you at least put the cupcakes back in the fridge before we leave? Buttercream melts...” I’m already picturing the little mounds of cake surrounded by and drowning in puddles of melted icing. He looks at me in the mirror again, laughs, and shakes his head before pulling out of the bakery’s parking lot.  
  
Merry Christmas, Kyle Busch. You’re screwed.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
I’m trapped in a bad episode of Law and Order. Or a nightmare. Or... the mostly likely explanation: I fell asleep watching Law and Order, and now I’m having a bizarre nightmare... but I don’t think they’d be taking my mug shot in a dream, and I definitely wouldn’t have black ink stuck to my fingers from having my prints made. At least I’m alone in the holding cell. I sit staring down at my now-black fingers, and I wonder how the hell JD and Coach will explain this one. I know I’m innocent... if they’d just called the bakery owner. If they’d just listened to me. If, if, if. I wonder who I should call, if I ever actually do get the phone call they promised. Do I call Bill and give him the opportunity to start spinning this? Do I call JD and deal with those consequences up front? Or do I call--- my thoughts are interrupted by someone calling my name.  
  
“Mr. Busch, we’re going to let you make your phone call now,” says the same deputy who took my mug shot. He unlocks the cell and leads me to a phone, where I hesitate for a moment... what’s the right decision here? Finally, I choose a number to call, and a perky Midwestern accent greets me on the other end of the line.  
  
“Samantha... um... honey....” I stutter, closing my eyes.  
  
“Kyle!” she interrupts, talking a mile a minute. “Where are you? I thought you were just going to pick up the cupcakes. The kids are getting restless and there’s only so much Wii Just Dance 2 you can play without a sugar rush and--”  
  
“Samantha... I’m... I need you to come get me. I’m... in jail.”  
  
“WHAT?!?!” She screams it so loudly the cop across the room winces.  
  
I sigh, put my head in my hand, and repeat myself, slowly. “I’m. In. The. Iredell. County. Jail.”  
  
I can practically hear the hamster in her brain running on his little wheel as she tries to figure out just why I’m here.  
  
“But... but... you paid your speeding tickets... and...” she pauses, then says quietly, “Kyle? You didn’t hit someone, did you? You... didn’t get in a fight?”  
  
I give a short laugh to that. Kyle Busch is a lover, not a fighter, regardless of what you may have heard.  
  
“No, honey, I didn’t get in a fight. It’s all just a big misunderstanding. Now I need you to go to the ATM and get some cash, and come get me out of here. And call Bill, because I’m sure he’s going to need to prepare a statement for me.”  
  
She says she will, and I can hear her moving around, telling the people at the home she’ll be back in just a bit, and then finally, I hear the sound of a car door closing and the engine of her car starting. “So... why are you in jail?” she asks quietly.  
  
“They think I burglarized the bakery,” I say, and I can hear her laughing on the other end of the phone. “It’s not funny,” I say, the pout on my face clearly audible in my voice.  
  
At that moment, the deputy comes over and takes the phone from me and hangs it up. He leads me back to the holding cell, locks me in, and I’m stuck waiting for my savior in sky high heels to come to my rescue.  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
Samantha arrives, and I can hear her talking to the deputy manning the front desk, explaining what I tried to explain earlier-- I didn’t break into the bakery, I wasn’t stealing anything. I had the owner’s permission to enter, I had a key, and I had the alarm code. That last part is almost true... I had what I thought was the alarm code, but apparently I missed a number, because the whole reason I’m sitting here is I couldn't get the alarm turned off. I even hear her offer to hand her phone over so the deputy can listen to the instructions on her cellphone-- the instructions telling us where to pick up the cupcakes, where the spare key was hidden, the alarm code, but he’s having none of it.  
  
Just as I can hear the frustration starting to grow in her voice, and I’m starting to worry we’re BOTH going to be spending the night in this holding cell, another female voice interrupts.  
  
“I’m Melanie Caufield. I own the bakery you’re accusing Mr. Busch of trying to rob. He had my permission to enter the premises and to pick up his order because I couldn’t meet him and his fiancee there. I’m not pressing charges, and I’d appreciate it if you could let him out... clear this matter up.”  
  
Oh thank you tiny baby Jesus. It’s a Christmas miracle.  
  
She continues talking to Sam and the deputy, fills out some paperwork, and the next thing I know, I’m being let out of my cell.  
  
Melanie looks at me apologetically and gives me and Sam both an embarrassed smile.  
  
“I’m so, so sorry, Kyle. I gave you the wrong damn alarm code. We changed it a couple months ago, and I... I just forgot. Whatever I can do to make it up to you, just let me know and I’ll do it.”  
  
Maybe jail was worth it after all.  
  
 _Now I’ve got free cupcakes for life._


End file.
